


Force and Motion

by DaughterOfKings



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Injury Recovery, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-05 23:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12199623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterOfKings/pseuds/DaughterOfKings
Summary: Prompto knew Ignis would get out of bed long before his injuries had really healed, but he hadn’t expected to find him running through training forms...





	Force and Motion

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This entire fic happened because Prompto hijacked my brain during a karate class. I did not see it coming.
> 
> 2) The title, too, comes from my training

Prompto knew Ignis would get out of bed long before his injuries had really healed, but hadn’t expected to find him running through training forms in the courtyard just days after regaining consciousness. And yet there he was. He'd stripped to the waist so that all of his bandages, not just the ones over his eyes, were visible, crisscrossing his chest and shoulders. A pair of wooden daggers were clenched tightly in his ungloved hands; Prompto had seen him practice with them before, but now...

Now he was struggling, holding himself too stiffly for the movements to be as fluid as they should have been. And then, as he brought his right arm up into a blocking position, it must have pulled at one of his injuries because he sucked in a sharp breath and drew the limb in tight to his chest, nearly toppling over in the process.

Prompto stepped forward, landing heavily so he was sure to be heard. “Ignis,” he said, and found he had no words to follow it.

Ignis turned toward his voice. “Prompto. Is there something you need?”

“No, I- uh-” He scrabbled for the canteen he had clipped to his belt, and shook it so the water sloshed around inside. “I just, uh, wanted to know if you were thirsty.”

It was a poor lie, and Ignis certainly knew it, but he knelt down, set his daggers on the ground beside his left foot, and accepted the canteen without comment. “My thanks,” he said once he’d taken a long drink.

“Sure. Uhm-” Prompto watched him move to pick up his daggers again, and blurted out, “Iggy, don’t you think you should stop?”

Ignis’ hands tightened to fists, but his voice remained calm. “Nonsense. I must be fit when His Majesty awakens."

“Yeah, and you won’t be fit if you hurt yourself,” Prompto answered, eyeing a spot on one of Ignis’ bandages where the blood had seeped through. 

“Keeping up with my training is hardly hurtful,” Ignis said dismissively.

“Iggy-”

“No!” Ignis sighed and let his head fall forward. When he spoke again, it was uncharacteristically soft. “Better to keep going and hurt than stop and let this kill me." He unclenched his fists and ran his fingers through his hair. "It will kill me, Prompto.”

At that, Prompto swallowed everything he had planned to say, feeling like a fool. He should have known that Ignis coped by keeping busy; he’d pushed them all onward after Insomnia had fallen, after he’d lost just as much as they had, and now he was pushing himself because he didn’t know how to do anything else. 

"If you have nothing further to say, I would like to resume," he said.

“O-okay,” Prompto answered, thinking quickly. “Okay, yeah, but, uh... Change it up? You’ve been doing the same weapons form for a while, right? A-and you know what that does to your precision, so... Let’s stretch you out, and then you can move on-” he took Ignis’ hand, half-expecting the other man to shake him off, or at least tell him to stop rambling. Instead, Ignis shifted, allowing Prompto to pull his arm back into a shoulder stretch. He started to release it too soon, but Prompto stopped him, holding him in place- “Forty-five seconds, not thirty, Iggy”- before moving to his other side.

“Sorry,” Ignis murmured.

“Not for that,” Prompto said, echoing the men- the Marshal, Gladio’s father, even King Regis- who’d taught them all not to apologize unless they’d actually erred.

Ignis’ chin came up. “Of course.”

Prompto stepped back to allow Ignis to continue on his own, only assisting with the stretches that required another person’s leverage. But when Ignis grasped one hand in the other to begin a wrist stretch and immediately winced, he decided it warranted another intervention. "Relax your arm, Iggy,” he said as he took the other man’s hand again. He started massaging the spot just below the base of Ignis’ thumb, mindful of the pressure point. “Just let me get this...”

Ignis nodded his consent, then went utterly still. Prompto worked the tension out of his wrists, palms, and fingers, noticing that some of the tightness Ignis had been carrying in his jaw was dissipating as well. He’d have gladly worked on the other man’s neck and shoulders, too, but he knew there was only so much his fiercely self-reliant friend would allow.

“Hey, what do you say we do some blocking drills?” he offered instead. And, then, before Ignis could argue that it was too basic, or imply anything negative about the suggestion, he added- “It’d be a big help to me. I haven’t practiced properly in so long.”

That was nothing but the truth; his formal martial arts training had been far more limited than that of any of Noct’s other friends. Ignis, though, had been training for most of his life, and Prompto was counting on the fact that these drills, unlike the weapons forms, would come as naturally to him as breathing.  

He still looked like he might object for a moment, but then he said, “Of course. Consider it repayment for the help you’ve given me.”

He took a stance, and immediately threw a punch towards Prompto’s head. It was quicker than Prompto had expected, but he got his arm into a passable upper block just in time. The next punch came towards his ribcage, and he knocked it aside before swinging his arm down to deflect a low jab at his thigh. They mirrored the blocks and strikes with the opposite hands, and then Prompto adjusted his stance so he could punch. He did it at full speed, knowing Ignis would berate him if he didn’t, and watched Ignis listening for his movements, learning how to time the blocks, gradually restoring his sense of control. By the time they’d done a dozen repetitions of the sequence, there were fresh bruises on their arms and small smiles on both their faces.

“Knife hands now,” Prompto said, bringing his right hand, palm up, to the left side of his neck. 

Ignis struck left-handed, and when the outside edge of his hand connected with Prompto’s palm, Prompto grunted and rocked back.

“I’ve found your favorite move,” he said ruefully.

Another smile flashed across Ignis’ face. “Indeed.” He attacked with his right hand no less forcefully. “Gladio used to say I was a ‘neck hunter.’”

“I can see why.” Prompto chuckled and threw his own knife hands, left and then right- and both more clumsy than Ignis’ had been- and then switched back to blocking.

By the tenth repetition Ignis’ arms had started to shake, but he still did two more. Then he caught Prompto’s right hand and said, “That will do, I think. But perhaps tomorrow...?” He let the question trail off, sounding oddly uncertain.

“Tomorrow we’ll keep going,” Prompto promised, feeling fingers tighten briefly around his own, and squeezing back.


End file.
